


Flew Like A Moth To You

by Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum



Series: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/pseuds/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum
Summary: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo prompt 1: Hugs.Geralt and Jaskier reunite after the winter.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079273
Comments: 12
Kudos: 114
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	Flew Like A Moth To You

The thaw comes early this year. Geralt could stay a while longer, savour the time with his brothers and the quiet comfort he always finds in Kaer Morhen, but something tugs at him; an itch beneath his skin that won't leave him until he's back on the road. He takes a few contracts to tide him over on his journey, but he doesn't linger in any one place longer than he has to. His restlessness won't allow it.

And so he moves on, following the creeping arrival of buds in the meadows he passes through and new leaves on the trees as he heads south, the world coming back to life around him. The farther he travels, the more he feels the same blossoming sensation in his own chest.

Geralt didn't set out from Kaer Morhen with a specific destination in mind, yet he finds himself there regardless.

Oxenfurt is a riot of noise and colour after months spent in the brumal peace of the keep. All around there's music and conversation, market traders peddling gaudy trinkets and pungent spices and perfumes, the crush of citizens and visitors alike bedecked in bright, exquisite fabrics. Geralt used to avoid the city for this very reason.

These days he's learning to appreciate its charms.

With Roach fed and stabled, Geralt wanders the bustling streets in the direction of the university, its spires a towering beacon in the heart of the city. There's a tightness in his chest, growing with every step; anticipation and apprehension each struggling to win out over the other. He doesn't know how he's going to find Jaskier in the chaos of the city. Usually it's whisperings of nearby monsters, or townsfolk overheard singing too-familiar tales of the White Wolf, that draws them to one another after the winter — Geralt's never had to actively seek Jaskier out before.

He doesn't know if Jaskier's even here. Jaskier wouldn't be expecting to see him for weeks yet, and even though he had told Geralt of his plans to remain in Oxenfurt throughout the winter, Geralt knows Jaskier well enough by now to know how easily his plans can change, cast aside in favour of his latest love affair or a sudden hunger for adventure.

Yet just as he's considering turning back for the city gates, Geralt's attention catches. Across the busy square the doors of a tavern swing open, and out spills a rambunctious group of what can only be troubadours; dressed in the same ostentatious and wildly impractical silks Jaskier insists upon, with a melodic quality to their animated conversation Geralt knows so well from a life on the road with Jaskier. He doesn't know how he could possibly spot Jaskier among them, or pick him out of any one of the crowds jostling all around him, for that matter — yet there's something about the group that tugs at him, the same thing that's been calling to him all the way from Kaer Morhen.

His eyes land on Jaskier.

He stands at the centre of the group — commanding attention as always — gesturing emphatically as he regales them with some story or another, and Geralt watches him with a smile. Out in the world, harsh and desolate as it is, Jaskier so often stands out like a sore thumb, yet here it's as if the city has been built in his image, as loud and warm and bright as Jaskier himself. If Geralt had laid eyes on Jaskier in his element here years ago, he might have learnt to understand the man a good deal sooner.

Geralt's happy to stand and watch from a distance for a while longer, reticent to intrude on Jaskier's peace by reminding him of the ugliness that waits beyond Oxenfurt's walls. But after a moment Jaskier's gaze drifts in Geralt's direction and he stops short, eyes widening and a grin spreading across his face. Without a parting word to his cohorts, Jaskier's pushing through the crowd towards him.

He's paler than when Geralt last laid eyes on him, his cheeks less gaunt after months of feasting and drink to make up for the pitiful sustenance the cold autumn on the Path had offered, yet when he throws his arms around Geralt in a hug that almost knocks the wind out of him, his scent is the same as it's always been. Geralt has to fight the compulsion to bury his face in the crook of Jaskier's neck and breathe him in. If he allows himself to, he's not sure he'd be able to pull away again.

Geralt's hands linger awkwardly at his sides while Jaskier squeezes him tight and he debates whether or not he's brave enough to wrap his arms around Jaskier in return, as though doing so might reveal too much, lay Geralt bare in a way that would surely make Jaskier turn from him. The moment stretches on for an agonising length, yet before he can come to a decision Jaskier's pulling away. It's only then that Geralt's heart seems to beat again.

"I thought for an awful moment I had gone mad and begun hallucinating you." Jaskier looks up at him, eyes bright and shining in the pale, late winter sunlight. His smile is radiant enough to melt away the last of the cold in Geralt's chest. "But you are delightfully solid."

"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the possibility you've gone mad," Geralt says with a grin as his eyes travel upwards to the hat perched jauntily atop Jaskier's head. He flicks at the ostrich feather dangling from it. "What the fuck is this thing?"

Jaskier blows at the feather to keep it from drifting into his face before staring back at Geralt as if there's nothing at all ridiculous about the way he looks. "I'll have you know they're highly in vogue this winter."

"If you insist."

"Come then," Jaskier says, linking his arm with Geralt's and leading them through the square. "Let me show you to my rooms while you tell me what brings you to Oxenfurt — I'm sure you didn't come all this way only to insult my fashion sense."

"The pass has cleared already. Thought I'd head back out on the road." _And came to ask you to join me_ , he doesn't say. _And was desperate just to see you._

"And what would a life on the Path be without your trusty companion?" He says it with a playful nudge to Geralt's side, but still Geralt fears Jaskier has seen straight through him.

"Roach is my trusty companion," he says. "You're a nuisance."

"Yet you'd not be without me."

It's almost as if they've never parted, Jaskier chattering away while they stroll through the winding streets, the sound of his voice quickly erasing the memory of the months Geralt had gone without hearing it. Geralt has never heard of any of the people whose exploits Jaskier shares; doesn't understand why it's some great scandal that someone has been caught plagiarising old poetry, or claiming to hail from Toussaint when they had in fact been born in a village just south of the Pontar, but he enjoys hearing it all the same. He watches Jaskier talk as if all the stories he's been saving for Geralt are trying to be let loose at once, and he's unable to keep the smile from his face or the warm, contented feeling that builds in his chest from overwhelming him.

"And I suppose if I ask of your winter at Kaer Morhen," Jaskier says, "you'll grunt that it was fine, and that'll be the end of the conversation?"

"Perhaps."

"So how was it?"

"Fine."

Jaskier laughs, warm and melodious. "I'll get it out of you eventually," he vows.

They come to a stop outside a tall boarding house, and Jaskier leads him up one narrow staircase after the next until they reach his rooms at the very top of the house. They both have to stoop slightly to keep from grazing their heads on the low, slanted ceiling.

"It's a job making my way up here after a few drinks too many, let me tell you," Jaskier says as he unlocks the door. "Fortunately it turns out the staircase can make for a surprisingly comfortable bed in a pinch."

He pushes open the door and steps back to allow Geralt inside. It's a modest space, made smaller by the books and trinkets piled atop every surface, though it carries with it a deep sense of comfort that Geralt is sure goes beyond the fact that Jaskier's scent permeates the air. It reminds Geralt of his rooms in Kaer Morhen; not remarkable in any way, but home nonetheless.

He looks back to see Jaskier smiling at him again. "What is it?" Geralt says.

"Nothing. I'm just happy to see you."

Jaskier steps forward and engulfs Geralt in another warm hug, and this time Geralt allows himself to return it. He winds his arms around Jaskier's broad shoulders and holds him close, savouring the feel of him pressed to Geralt's chest.

"I've missed you," Jaskier says. There's something so open, so raw, about the simple admission that Geralt aches with it.

After a long moment they break apart, and those too-blue eyes find Geralt's again. Jaskier looks back at him almost like he's waiting for something. Geralt would panic that there's some social custom he's forgotten about if he didn't so often catch Jaskier studying him with the same expression, anticipation and something like hope glimmering in his eyes as he stares at Geralt. He licks his lips in a split-second movement that still manages to draw Geralt's attention, and in the bated silence that grows between them Geralt can't help but wonder what would happen if he leant forward and let his own brush against them.

Geralt swallows the urge. "I missed you too," he says instead.


End file.
